Just Like a Fairytale
by Gillifrey
Summary: "Hello Amelia, I'm the Doctor. Everything's going to be fine." When Amy Pond was growing up, she couldn't let go of her Raggedy Doctor, even when everyone called her crazy for it. Now she's ended up in the place that she's always feared most. (Slight AU)
1. Waiting

Amelia Pond had been beautiful once.

A girl with a name from a fairy tale. Long red hair that looked like fire when it caught the sunlight just right, eyes that always seemed so bright when she laughed.

Bright and vibrant and beautifully alive, that was what she had been once. A stunning individual with a sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue, a smile at her lips, and a wanderlust unmatchable by anyone that knew her. But she wasn't like that anymore.

She had always been odd, that was common knowledge in her hometown of Leadworth. It had started out being called imaginative when she was a little girl. She'd come up with the most wonderful story, a man who fell out of the sky in a big blue box. The Doctor, she called him. The Raggedy Doctor. Nobody paid her imaginary friend much attention for a very long time. Not when she started to make crafts of a blue police box in school, not when she drew herself and a lanky man with odd hair, a large chin, and torn clothes. It wasn't until Amelia had turned twelve did people start to whisper.

Peculiar Amelia Pond who couldn't let go of a fantasy, couldn't let go of her imaginary friend. Children teased her at school about her imaginary Doctor, crooning harsh names, even making up games at her expense. She knew about it all, but she did her best to ignore it.

She was thirteen years old the first time someone called her crazy.

It was that word, that one simple word, that opened the floodgates to an entirely new area of insults. Lunatic, insane, mental. Amelia had heard them all, and each one stung. Her aunt was no consolation, as the woman was questioning Amelia's mental health just like everyone else in town, setting her up with psychiatrist after psychiatrist. The only thing that really kept her going was that she knew she was right. She knew that her Doctor was real, and that he was coming back for her.

But as the years wore on and her Raggedy Doctor stayed away, she started to deteriorate. Had she really imagined him? Was she really crazy? Of course not. He was real. He was coming back.

She was fifteen years old when she first realized that her beautiful smile had become forced.

Rory Williams was her only light. Her best friend since primary school, the one who hadn't abandoned her, who hadn't called her crazy. He was the only one who had believed in her Raggedy Man. Rory, the only person who could make her laugh, who brought out her smile when all she wanted to do was cry. It wasn't like he was oblivious to her predicament. Everyone in Leadworth knew. He just didn't care.

Amelia was sixteen when she changed her fairytale name to Amy.

She had to just give up on her magical Doctor. He'd said five minutes, but it had been nine years, and she was tired. In an attempt to grow up, to let him go, she'd decided to start going by Amy. She'd also stopped talking about the Doctor.

She couldn't forget him though. All the crafts she'd made, all the paintings and drawings and figurines, she didn't get rid of a single one. But Amy had completely ceased talking about him to anyone, even Rory. The name calling didn't stop, but Amy suspected that maybe she was getting better, that maybe she was growing up. She hoped that they would begin to see that too.

Ever since she could remember, she had been on medication. Four psychiatrists over the years trying to diagnose her, trying to fix her. She was seventeen when she stopped taking those meds.

Amy was also seventeen the first time someone called her dangerous.

Unstable, they'd said. But _dangerous_? Many didn't believe it at first, that crazy Amy Pond was also a threat. She couldn't let go of a dream, but she wasn't dangerous, she knew that. But the word spread like wildfire, and soon everyone believed it. The children who had teased her at school, now all grown up, started to make up stories about her. One boy said that she'd nearly broken his arm while another girl swore that Amy had come at her with a knife. No longer on any sort of medication after relying on it for a decade, the cruel words actually made her _feel _unstable.

She'd thought she was getting better. She wasn't. Amy felt like she was spiraling.

Each vicious word cut like a blade, breaking her apart into a million pieces. All Amy wanted was for it to stop.

In an attempt to do better, she gave in and started to take her meds again. Her aunt told her they would make things better, and Amy was desperate. It didn't help though. It just made things so much worse.

Amy couldn't speak to anyone, not her aunt, not Rory. School was torturous, a place where every day was a battlefield. She found herself taking more and more pills to get through the day. They managed to dull the cruel voices, managed to ease her when she felt fractured. She didn't take them because of her aunt or because her psychiatrist told her they would help, she took them just to cling on to a shred of her sanity.

As badly as she wanted to, she couldn't let go of her Doctor. He was coming back for her. After all that she'd gone through, he had to be coming back. He'd promised. As ridiculous as it was, she still trusted that he would return. He wasn't imaginary, he was real. She had to believe that, at least in private.

No one would leave her alone. Whispers trailed her wherever she went, and they were just as common as harsh, blunt words. Even Rory couldn't make her smile anymore, though he did make an effort. He was the only reason that she hadn't lost her grip completely.

Amy was eighteen years old when she overdosed.

It was an accident. Of course the idea of suicide had entered her mind before, but she'd never acted on it. She was too scared. What would Rory think if he couldn't help her? What would her Doctor think if he returned to find that she'd been buried six feet under? Her aunt would be upset that her niece was gone, no question. No, Amy didn't want to kill herself, she didn't ever try. She'd just been taking her medicine, and she'd accidentally taken too much.

When Amy woke up in the hospital, Rory was there, holding her hand.

He came in to visit her often for long periods of time, telling her stories. Some were personal tales about him, some were about past memories they'd shared. Sometimes they talked about the Doctor, but not often. Her Raggedy Man still managed to make her heart ache. They never spoke of the outside world or the people at school. Amy was grateful for it.

Rory mentioned to her in passing that he'd decided to study medicine for a living. He was a great guy, he would do wonderfully helping others that needed him. Amy couldn't help but wonder if the deciding factor in his choice to study medicine had been her being admitted to the hospital. He didn't say, and she didn't ask, but she always suspected that it was true.

She'd hoped that maybe things at school would get better. A sleepy town like Leadworth, everyone was bound to hear what had happened to mad Amelia Pond. Maybe they would take pity, realizing how cruel they were being. Maybe the whispers would finally stop.

It was a fantasy Amy knew would inevitably shatter in the presence of harsh reality.

People would stop to point and gossip about Amy Pond, the girl who didn't make sense, the girl who still believed in fairytales. The girl who had completely lost her mind. There was nothing she could do except listen to the hushed words and try not to show that she was shattering.

Amy was sinking. Each word pushed her deeper and deeper into a darkness filled with uncertainties and instabilities. No matter how hard she tried to resurface, she just wasn't strong enough when everyone else was pushing her further down. Her Raggedy Doctor didn't do a thing to stop her from drowning.

When Amy was nineteen, he came back.

Everything about him was exactly the same as she remembered. The rumpled hair, the tattered clothes, the eyes always alight with a strange curiosity that she'd once possessed. He had no idea that she'd grown up. No idea how long she'd waited or what she'd gone through. When she saw him again, she hit him over the head with a cricket bat, pretending that she'd called the police on him. He asked for Amelia Pond, saying that he'd promised the girl five minutes, saying that he was late.

He'd promised five minutes, and it had been twelve years.

When she was a little girl, he'd fixed the crack in her wall. When he returned, he brought her along as they saved the world.

She had only taken her eyes off of him for a second, but it had been long enough for him to disappear. By the time she'd made it back to his blue box, he was disappearing right before her eyes. That was okay, though. She knew he would return. He'd mentioned in passing something about having to test out the ship's new interior. He'd be back.

A week passed, then a month, then a year, and still her Doctor stayed away. As Rory returned from medical school, saying that he'd become a nurse and was ready to volunteer at the local hospital in their hometown, she told him about the Doctor's visit. She could tell, however, that he was very worried. She could tell that he didn't believe her.

People got word that Amy had started telling stories again, and the whispers were unrelenting. Crazy Amy Pond, Freakish Amy Pond, Insane Amy Pond. She'd thought she'd heard all the names until one day when she'd heard something new: Amy Pond, the girl who needed to be locked away.

She didn't need to be locked away, she wasn't crazy. The Doctor was real, she knew he was, knew that he had come back for her. She knew that he would return again.

Amy was twenty two when she got in the accident.

She didn't remember it, not one bit of it. Apparently it was a car accident, though she didn't recall being in her car. She woke up in a hospital bed, covered in all sorts of wires and needles (she _hated _needles), gauze wrapped around her head, the place where she seemed to have obtained the most damage. Her aunt sat dutifully by her side filling her in on what had occurred. Doctors and nurses fluttered around her bedside in a blur, giving her aunt news, news that Amy could scarcely understand. She didn't try to.

It was a week before they could have let her out, but they didn't, and Amy knew why. The dreams had started almost immediately after the accident.

They were wonderful dreams, all filled with such stunning detail that made them feel as though they weren't dreams at all. It was the same one, a repeating dream with her and her Doctor in the midst of everything. She dreamed they went to space, a starship from the future. There were eerite statues that looked like they belonged in a carnival, a mysterious woman in a red cloak, and hushed whispers about some beast below. These dreams were everything to Amy. She stayed in the hospital, drawing dozens of pictures. Even after she knew she'd recovered from the accident she couldn't remember, they didn't release her, and she knew it was because they were observing her. She didn't care though, not really. Her dreams made her feel like she was finally traveling with the Doctor.

Amy had taken to keeping a journal of these dreams, filling them with pictures and memos, all about her time on the Starship UK. It was another week before a nurse found the journal and presented it to Amy's aunt, as well as her doctor. Amy had never seen her aunt look so afraid.

The next day, she went over to Amy's bedside, returning the journal to her niece. Amy clutched the precious thing to her chest as her aunt spoke, telling Amy exactly what she'd feared hearing since she was twelve years old.

Amelia Pond was being sent away to a psychiatric ward.

An asylum. They were locking her away because they thought she was crazy. She wasn't though, she definitely wasn't crazy. The Doctor had definitely come for her, and he was definitely coming back.

The night before she was due to leave, Amy's dream changed from a fairytale to a nightmare. Hideous creatures made of metal who despised all love and emotion. She woke up that night screaming. Her aunt didn't wait until the morning to bring her to the ward.

Yes, Amelia Pond had been beautiful once. The ward took that beauty away from her within a month.

Ghostly pale skin that made her look painfully ill, deep shadows under her eyes. Her red hair fell limp and lank around her hollow cheeks. Her radiant smile had completely disappeared.

Doctor after doctor came to speak with her, trying to diagnose her. Therapists were as common as fruit flies, but none ever stayed with her for very long. Too uncooperative, too unstable, too wrapped up in a fantasy, that's what she was. They tried different medications, but they didn't help Amy. Nothing did.

Her dreams had become an obsession. She had filled three notebooks with them by her second month at the ward. Dreams of starwhales and metal monsters and angels made of stone that could kill you if you even blinked. Those were the most frightening, the angels. The drawings that weren't in her journals were scattered around her bedroom. Some drawings featured her, but most were alien creatures, or a mad man in a bow tie. Her Raggedy Doctor.

During Amy's second month there, one of the nurses came in to tell her that they'd found a new doctor, a man with extensive medical and psychiatric knowledge. A man that they believed could help her. Amy said nothing when they led him into her room, scribbling furiously in her journal as she shaded the dress of one of her feral angels. He would be no better than the last doctor or the doctor before that. He would be no better than any of her therapists. It wasn't until she heard him speak did she look up to see his face, her cracked lips parted slightly, her heart racing.

He looked so different. The well tailored suit and tie were so different from his ragged attire, even more drastically different from his tweed and his bow tie. It complimented his lean figure very nicely, but it made him look so different that it caught her off guard. He looked more solemn than she had ever seen him, but the look only lasted for a moment before it was cleared away by a watchful sort of curiosity. She would know that face anywhere though. After all, she'd dreamed of her Doctor enough times to know his face by heart. His next words, however, cut through her like a warm knife could cut through butter.

"Hello Amelia, I'm the Doctor. Everything's going to be fine."


	2. Doubt

A/N: This is pretty much where the story itself kicks off, as the last chapter was pretty much just for background information. Please R&R and I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

The journal tumbled out of Amy's hands, falling to the ground with a dull thud, but she didn't even blink.

"Doctor?" She mumbled, her heart racing. He looked so different, so _normal_. She'd grown accustomed to seeing him in tweed, as that was what he always wore in her dreams (why he thought it was a good look, she didn't know).

"Yes, I'm the Doctor," he said patiently, but Amy just shook her head slightly. No, he wasn't the Doctor. He looked like her Doctor, and he sounded like her Doctor, but that was where the similarities ended.

Her Doctor scarcely stopped talking, going on and on, rambling about spaceships and aliens and altogether impossible things that Amy wouldn't have believed had she not seen them with her own eyes. This Doctor had yet to lose his seemingly everlasting calm, yet to break into a monologue that could leave her breathless.

There was an uncomfortable tightness in her chest when she realized that while he was looking at her, there was no recognition in his eyes.

"You... You don't remember me?" She asked, her face falling as her hope started to splinter. After all they'd been through, her Raggedy Man wouldn't just _forget her_, would he? Although... Wasn't it entirely possible that she hadn't meant anything to him while he'd been everything to her? She'd never really stopped to think about her significance to him, always imagining that he cared for the girl with the fairytale name.

"Amelia, we've never met before." He told her, eyeing her curiously. He didn't seem to think she was odd for making the suggestion.

Most of her doctors looked at her with a mix of pity and fear. She would rather have it that way, if she was being completely honest. Pity and fear were things Amy knew how to handle. She'd handled them before, and she was sure she would again. The Doctor didn't look at her that way though. He just looked at as though she were a puzzle, something that needed to be solved. A strange curiosity mixed with something that looked almost like guilt. Did he feel bad for what happened to her? Why would he?

After all, he didn't know her.

Amy glanced away, picking up her fallen journal before setting it on the table beside her bed.

"I don't want you," she told the man, not bothering to look at him as she spoke. She didn't care if he was the greatest physician in the universe, she wouldn't take him. She couldn't stand to see his face every day, knowing that he would only ever see her as a patient. Knowing that he wasn't really that mad man who had promised her the stars.

"I'm afraid I won't be that easy to get rid of, Amelia. I really do want to help you, want to understand what happened to you." He said gently, giving her a small, almost hesitant, smile.

No one had smiled around Amy in months. It was a welcome change. Unfortunately, that kindness came from the last person Amy wanted it from. She didn't want him to be kind to her. She didn't want to get attached, not when she knew that the mere sight of him would bring her renewed heartache.

"Get out," she snapped, moving so that she was standing in front of him, straightening up to her full height. She knew she wasn't an imposing figure. She was too scrawny and lank, too pale and sick. But she knew that she could be a frightening figure. After all, she'd scared away enough psychiatrists in the past. "I don't _want _you. I don't want your help, I want nothing you have to offer me. _Get. Out_."

The nurse that brought the Doctor in looked positively stunned, and Amy knew why. After all, she'd never been so hostile to a doctor before without at least sitting down to a session. But that woman didn't understand, didn't know.

The Doctor's eyes widened a fraction in surprise, though that was the only outward sign he gave that he'd been startled by her. "Amelia, you don't scare me. I truly do want to help." He said gently. He looked as if he wanted to reach out to her, but he refrained. Smart move. She had no restrictions about biting, after all.

"Why?" She asked, the edge in her voice still there, still obvious. "Why do you want to help me?"

"Because I don't want to see you like this, Amelia." He murmured, and she turned her head away.

"Amy." She muttered.

"What?"

"You keep calling me Amelia. I go by Amy." Hearing her full name with his voice stung unpleasantly.

"Amy," he echoed, nodding slightly. "I'll keep that in mind. Although Amelia, that's a beautiful name as well."

"Bit fairytale." She mumbled, feeling her heartbeat quicken slightly. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked her over, but she kept her expression guarded as she looked back at him. "What's your name?" She asked. "You proper name. You can't just be called 'Doctor'."

He was ready for that question, and he laughed faintly when she actually addressed it. "My name is Doctor John Smith. Hideously dull name, so I prefer to go by the Doctor."

"And what, your friends don't think that's weird, calling you the Doctor?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Amy didn't say anything, just nodding slightly. Undeniably, it made things easier knowing that his name wasn't really the Doctor, that he wasn't the same man from her dreams. But they were _identical_. He was the same as the Doctor from her dreams, the same as the Doctor who had come to visit her as a little girl.

Maybe she really _was _going crazy.

"And you really want to be my psychiatrist, John Smith?" She asked, purposefully using that name instead of calling him 'Doctor'.

"It would be my honor," he said, nodding, a faint smile touching his lips. He held his hand out to her as if he meant for her to shake it.

"Would you give me a chance, Amy?"

Amy didn't want him. She didn't want to feel a sharp stab of pain in her chest every time he spoke with her Doctor's voice. She didn't want to look at him and feel her heart ache, when he would only ever see her as a crazy girl that he was trying to help. She didn't want him. She wanted her Raggedy Man.

He was gone though, wasn't he? He'd left her, even when she'd needed him most. Even in a psychiatric ward, he couldn't be bothered to come in his blue box to take her away. He'd left her alone and scared and hollow.

When she took his hand, it felt the same as it had when her Doctor had told her to run from Prisoner Zero.

Despite her best intentions, she found herself gripping his hand tightly, afraid to let go. Amy had to be honest with herself, she'd missed gentle touches. She'd gotten so used to latex gloves holding her arms still, or cold hands still damp from being recently washed tilting her chin up so she could be examined. John Smith's hands were warm and soft, and she couldn't help but feel safe with him. She had no reason to, of course. Amy had grown to be a cold, isolated person who spoke less and less and started to succumb more and more to her own fantasies. She had no reason to trust John Smith, especially when he looked like he could be her Doctor's doppelgänger.

"I'll give you a chance." She murmured, giving a slight nod.

She would give him a chance, even if it ended up breaking her heart to do so. After all, the alien Doctor she'd met as a child had broken her heart so many times over the years, what else did she have to lose?


	3. Heat

A/N: This chapter is a lot of Amy reflecting on things, so John Smith isn't in it, but the Doctor is :) Please R&R, let me know what you think.

* * *

John Smith left the room with the promise that he would be back the next day for their first session, leaving Amy feeling even more alone than she'd felt before he'd come in.

He wasn't possible. It was the only explanation she could think of, that he simply wasn't possible. He had the Doctor's face, he had the Doctor's voice, but he was so heartbreakingly _human_. He wasn't her Raggedy Man, though their looks were identical. He didn't know her, he hadn't saved the world with her.

And he wouldn't believe her either.

No one did. It didn't matter that he looked like her Doctor, John Smith certainly wouldn't believe her. He would be just the same as the rest of the psychiatrists who had tried to fix her, and failed miserably.

She groaned in frustration, falling her bed, the thin mattress barely stopping the springs of the bed frame from poking into her back. It wasn't _fair_. She knew life wasn't fair, she'd grown up learning that the hard way. She knew that the universe didn't grant any favors, that there were no cosmic forces that shifted a person's fate to have a happier outcome. After everything she'd been through, everything she'd endured, wouldn't she have had at least _one _stroke of good luck? At least _one _even turn out her way? Apparently not.

The greatest thing that had happened to Amy had been her meeting the Doctor, and even that had turned out to be a curse disguised as a blessing. A man who fell from the sky, a man who saved her when she was just seven years old. He was also the man who had driven her to insanity, the man who ended up being the reason she was tormented growing up, the reason she'd been locked away.

Of course, what sort of life would she have led had he not crashed into her garden? She'd grown up making up stories about a mad alien who could save the world with a glowing screwdriver. Amy couldn't remember a time in her life when there hadn't been a Raggedy Doctor. Maybe that was for the best. In the few hours she'd seen him in her life, he'd given her more excitement than she'd ever experienced before.

There were times when she hated him though. Hated that he was the cause of the torment and ridicule she suffered through. Hated that he'd abandoned her. Hated that he was the reason she'd ended up in a psychiatric hospital. An _asylum_.

Was he worth it?

Of course he was. He was her Raggedy Doctor.

So why did that man, that _human _psychiatrist have his face? Their looks weren't just similar, they were completely identical. From his bright green eyes, to his pale, slender fingers, to even the faint, upward curve of his lips when he smiled. It wasn't like she could ask, that would be ridiculous. He would get scared off faster than any of the other psychiatrists she'd met with. And while she'd wanted him gone before, she knew she was too weak to actually make him leave. She'd missed seeing him, and even if he wasn't her Raggedy Man, he was close enough.

Maybe he would help her get better.

Amy wanted to get out of the ward, there was no question about it. She tried acting as normal as she could. She didn't speak about the Doctor to anyone, she kept mostly to herself. It were the dreams that gave her away. There were times when she'd been told by nurses that they'd heard her during the night, mumbling nonsensical words like 'Dalek' or 'TARDIS'. Sometimes they told her that they could hear her scream in her sleep, shouting for the Doctor to run.

Her journals kept getting fuller and fuller, spilling open with paragraphs and paragraphs about the things she'd dreamed about, bursting with sketches that would make sense to no one but her or the Doctor. Many of her drawings coated the plain walls of her room. Some were in color, but only flashes of color. The red of her hair, the blue of his spaceship, the green of a forest filled to the brim with angels that killed.

Maybe he would help her get better. Or maybe she needed to stay in that place.

Amy sat up slowly, drawing her knees up to her chest, her back pressed against the wall of her room. A couple of papers crinkled slightly, but she ignored them. No, she didn't want to stay in that place, but there was every possibility that she _needed _to. That maybe she did really belong there.

She'd always considered it a mistake, her being locked up. She wasn't really mad. Her Doctor was going to come back for her, and all those people that mocked her or made her feel worthless, they'd all be proved wrong. They'd all know that he was real and that she was telling the truth. That she'd never been crazy. But after spending so much time dwelling on her mad man, after so long being broken from the inside out, maybe she had lost herself. Maybe she needed to be locked up.

* * *

_Amy was with the Doctor, but they weren't at the Byzantium crash. They were in her old bedroom. The TARDIS was parked at the end of her bed, but she was sitting on the edge of the mattress. The Doctor was beside her, and they were talking. They were sitting close together, her thigh right beside his, their arms brushing together anytime either of them moved. And then she was closing the minuscule amount of space between them, trying to kiss him. He turned his head at the last moment, her lips just grazed his jaw. He climbed over the bed, moving back towards his TARDIS, looking flushed._

_"Amy!" He spluttered, but she was already on her feet, a smile tugging at her lips. It felt right to her, being so close to him. She wanted that closeness. She wanted to kiss him._

_She tugged at one of his suspenders, trying to push it off his shoulder, but he just fixed it again, a permanent blush standing out on his cheeks._

_"Amy, listen to me, I am nine hundred and seven years old, do you know what that means?" He asked, ducking under her arm._

_"That it's been awhile?" Was the first thing she could think to answer. She had never kissed anyone before, not since the people in her town all thought she was crazy. Even Rory, who she adored, never saw her that way. He saw her as someone who needed protection. The Doctor didn't see her the way Rory did, like a child who needed to be shielded from the world. Maybe he didn't see her romantically, but she just wanted the feeling of having someone kiss her. Of having _him _kiss her_.

_"Yes- I, no, no!" He stammered, fumbling over his words slightly as she let her fingers brush against his bowtie. "I'm nine hundred and seven, and look at me! I don't get older, I change! You get older, I don't, and this can't ever work!"_

_Amy just shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. She would never settle down with anyone, not when the entire universe was out there. She wouldn't be able to settle, even with the Doctor._

_"I really wasn't suggesting anything quite so long term," she admitted to him before she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his._

_Amy had never kissed anyone before, not when everyone in Leadworth had thought she was insane. She'd never had a schoolyard fling, never had a passing summer romance. She was dreadfully unaware. So when she found a boldness in her she hadn't known existed, she went with it, and kissed her mad man._

_She'd never been the best with words, always afraid that she would be reprimanded for telling falsehoods, though they certainly weren't false. Kissing, she found, didn't require words. It was a physical thing that let her express more through small touches than she ever could with a few simple syllables._

_A few moments passed with the Doctor pressing carefully against her waist, her shoulder, unsure of how to react to her display. But pretty soon, Amy found him kissing her back, his nimble fingers twisting slightly in the material of her shirt as he held her closer._

* * *

When she woke up, she quickly sat up ramrod straight in her bed, breathing heavily. It hadn't been real. It was a dream, just another dream. Despite that, she found that she could still feel the ghost of his kiss lingering on her lips.

She turned on her light, fumbling slightly with the switch as she grabbed her notebook, flipping through it, trying to find a free page. Eventually, she did, and she started to draw.

Amy wanted to remember, wanted to keep the dream in her mind. She wanted to remember the sensation of his lips against hers, of his hands against her waist, his fingers tangling in her shirt, in her hair. She wanted to remember the butterflies in her stomach and the softness of his kiss.

She wanted the dream again. She wanted her Doctor to come back.


	4. Relenting

A/N: So this chapter was a lot of basic stuff, catching Dr. Smith up with Amy's situation and all that, so bear with me. I promise, I've got something more exciting planned for chapter 5, so until then, enjoy~

* * *

She didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Amy didn't sleep when her hand started to ache from writing nonstop for hours. She didn't sleep when her eyes grew tired, or when the lines on her journal blurred together. And she _definitely _didn't sleep when she thought about what her session with Dr. Smith would be like the next day.

That man and the Doctor had _exactly the same face_. How the hell could she have a session with that man if all she could think about was the Doctor? His lips against hers, his hands roaming over her body, his breath at her neck... She doubted she would even be able to _look _at Dr. Smith, let alone have a session with him.

She wondered if she would have the dream again when she slept that night.

Amy covered her mouth with her hand as she struggled to fight back a yawn, letting her journal rest against her lap. She'd drawn the Doctor many times. Sometimes just his hands, sometimes his ridiculous attire, sometimes his eyes or, (embarrassingly enough) his lips. The one she'd drawn was a rather detailed sketch that took up a full page on its own of his entire body that had taken up a majority of the night to draw. She hadn't left out a single detail. Not the suspenders falling over his arms after she'd attempted to pull them away, not the wideness of his eyes, not the way his lips parted in surprise. It was the Doctor as she remembered him after he'd backed away against the TARDIS, still stunned from having her try to kiss him. A flushed, flustered, stunned Doctor that she couldn't help but want to see again.

Amy could only imagine how badly she would blush if Dr. John Smith asked to see her journals.

What would he make of it, drawings of him? They weren't him, of course, they just looked like him. But there was no way that an educated, logical man like him would believe that she was actually drawing an alien from her dreams, the same alien that had visited her as a little girl in her back garden. So why was that psychiatrist the same as her Raggedy Man?

It wouldn't be that bad, she decided. Seeing Dr. John Smith again. He and the Doctor had the same face, but they acted so differently, it would be easy to tell them apart. Her dream would be buried down as she focused on her session, and things would be just fine.

It was a clever lie that not even Amy believed. After all, when had things in her life gone according to plan?

He managed to make her feel dizzy just by entering the room. His smart sense of dress, the way he carried himself so confidently, his shoulders back and his head high. Of course he could carry himself that way, he had a _life_. A normal life, a job that paid well, probably a wife back home.

Amy'd never thought about Dr. Smith having a wife, but she definitely didn't like the idea of it. He looked like the Doctor, and the Doctor could never settle. Someone with his face couldn't do so either without it looking entirely unnatural to her. He was a good looking bloke, that was certain. He wouldn't have any trouble finding someone to settle down with. But it was just _wrong _to her.

He sat down in a chair in front of her bed, where she was sitting up ramrod straight, wringing her hands together in her lap. She hadn't known when he was coming, so she'd thought that maybe she'd have time to clear away some of her drawings from the walls. No such luck, as the nurse barely gave her a three minute warning. It was just enough time for her to hide her journal and brush her teeth before he was walking inside.

In all her time at the ward, Amy had stopped caring about her appearance, and it was obvious. Her hair, which had once been full and bright, now just looked like a dull auburn instead of its usual, fiery shade. Her skin was too pale, and she was too skinny. Her clothes were rumpled, and the dark circles under her eyes became more and more obvious every day.

There had been a time when Amy had believed that beauty was synonymous with acceptance. She'd thought if she was pretty, she would be taken in by the crowds that had shunned her. She'd thought that attractiveness could be her second chance. Coming to the ward had brought down upon her the harsh reality that she wasn't accepted, and that she likely never would be. So she'd stopped trying.

Maybe he could make her want to try again. Not making herself look pretty, no. But maybe he could get her to want to take care of herself.

"Hello Amy," he said kindly, keeping his eyes on her. He excelled at keeping his innermost thoughts hidden from her, that had become clear enough. The Doctor was complicated, his emotions as bright and devastating as a supernova. John Smith didn't let on much what was running through his head.

"Dr. Smith," she mumbled, giving him a slight nod. She didn't meet his eyes until she felt his hand lightly rest on top of hers. She fell still, looking up at him, somewhat stunned. He didn't look aggravated with her for poor communication skills, didn't look at her pityingly. He looked at her like a person.

"Amy, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." He murmured. "I just want to talk to you. Will you let me do that?"

Amy had once had a psychiatrist that spoke to her the way a mother might speak to her child. It was horribly demeaning. It made her feel small and insignificant. John Smith spoke to her like she was a person.

"Yeah, okay," she whispered, nodding. He wasn't like anyone she'd ever spoken to before, that was certain.

He pulled his hand away, and she immediately missed the warmth that his skin against hers provided. His hands were exactly the same as the Doctor's. The slender fingers that gave him the look of a practiced musician, the veins at his forearms. He even had the same astounding steadiness that the Doctor possessed.

_He is impossible_.

Dr. Smith sat back in his chair, finally taking a look at his surroundings. He made sure to keep his face masked, but the faint look of shock that crossed his features didn't escape her notice.

"Amy, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" He asked, looking back at her, clasping his hands together in his lap. She knew what it felt like to hold those hands, knew how her fingers laced together with his. _No, not his, the Doctor's_. _He isn't the Doctor_.

She'd never really thought about who she was. Her life had been so distorted by the Doctor, she'd lost sight of things. "I like to write," she murmured, forcing herself to keep her eyes on him. "Drawing, that's fun as well. I think maybe if I hadn't been locked up in here I could have tried being a journalist."

"And why were you brought in here?" He asked gently, looking at her attentively as she spoke.

Why was she in there? Didn't he know? Hadn't they told him? Maybe they had an he just wanted to hear her say it aloud. "Same as everyone else. This is an asylum, Dr. Smith. I'm here for being mad." She said, giving him a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

Instead of looking unnerved by her like so many others, he just shook his head. "You, Amelia Pond, are _not _mad. Now tell me why you're here."

No one in her life had ever told her that before. There had been plenty of people who had told her she was insane, and plenty of others who had just never said anything. Rory had never called her crazy. He'd always been a constant companion, but he'd never said that the people tormenting her were wrong.

She considered lying to him. She wasn't _paying _him to be there or anything, he was there because she had to have a psychiatrist. Therapy wasn't something she enjoyed. Being analyzed wasn't something she enjoyed. Why did she have to comply?

Because he looked like the Doctor. And a long time ago, the Doctor had asked her to trust her.

It had been years, and she still trusted the mad man, though she had no reason at all for it.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. "When I was a little girl," she murmured, chewing at her bottom lip slightly. "I... I had an imaginary friend. I called him the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" He asked, keeping himself entirely expressionless as he listened to her. That was good, she decided. No pity, no fear, no patronization.

"Just the Doctor. He crashed into my garden when I was seven years old." She murmured, unable to help but smile at the memory. Everything that man had done, all the pain she'd endured, and he could still make her smile.

"With a car?"

"No. With his spaceship. It's a big blue box called the TARDIS."

Dr. Smith didn't say anything. He looked around her walls, his gaze falling on a picture of the TARDIS that she'd drawn before he looked back at her, telling her to continue.

Amy found herself telling him everything. Every moment from when the Doctor had crashed into her garden, to when she'd been locked up in the ward. Of course, she didn't mention her journal or the fact that Dr. Smith and her Raggedy Man were identical.

She learned as she was speaking to him that her life truly did sound like a fairytale. A handsome hero who had offered to take her away in his magical machine, but who had instead left her alone. Her fairytale didn't have a happy ending, but she'd learned long ago that there was no such thing. No one lived happily ever after. That wasn't what life was. Life was pain and sorrow. It was growing up and learning new things. It was about finding a path and setting out on it. Life wasn't a fairytale.

Dr. Smith listened attentively, just watching her carefully as she spoke. She gradually became more comfortable, her posture relaxing somewhat. He didn't interrupt, and she was glad for it. She'd never told anyone the whole story except for Rory, so she wasn't sure if she would be able to continue if he spoke out of turn.

Eventually, she fell silent. He wrote down a couple of notes, but he really just looked like he was thinking about what she'd told him, all that she'd spilled.

"And these drawings?" He asked, looking around the room. "How do you know what these are?"

"I have these... These dreams." She mumbled, tapping her foot against the tiled floor. "Dreams about him. The Doctor. I can see him. We have adventures together. It's the only way I can hold onto him, so I draw or write about it." Again, she chose not to mention her journal.

"What does he look like, the Doctor?" He asked her, meeting her gaze once more, causing her to shiver.

If Amy had wanted to, she could describe the Doctor in excruciating detail that would make Dr. Smith's head spin. She could tell him about the line of her Raggedy Man's jaw, the softness of his lips, the gentleness the man used when he hugged her. But she didn't.

"He's just a bloke," she shrugged. "Looks a bit like my mate Rory." Lies. The Doctor and Rory looked about as similar as salt and pepper.

Dr. Smith didn't look pleased, but just nodded and let it go.

After a few minutes of complete silence, Amy cleared her throat. "Do you... Do you believe me?" She asked. Of course he didn't. He was just being kind. But the sooner she heard him say it, the sooner she could move on.

Then Dr. Smith did what he did best, and he surprised her. He leaned forward in his chair, smiling. "Amelia Pond, of _course_ I believe you."


	5. Broken

A/N: Oh my god wow I haven't updated this in ages. I'm so sorry, I've been massively busy, and when I tried to write this about a week ago, the chapter got deleted. I'm so sorry for the wait, but hopefully this chapter makes up for it. I think it turned out well, and is definitely more exciting (which I did promise in the last chapter). I'll be trying to update more regularly now. I'd love it if you guys could read and review this story, it'd mean a lot!

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For the next two months, Amy found that Dr. Smith's visits were what had begun to sustain her.

Ever since she'd first been locked up, her journal, her dreams, those had been what made her feel any sense of happiness. Since meeting Dr. Smith, she found that his company could make her feel warm in a cold, sterile place like the institution she'd ended up in.

As embarrassing as it was, she found herself beginning to draw him as well as her Raggedy Man. He was a sharp man, in both wit and dress sense. Her hand could easily draw his well-tailored suit, just as it could effortlessly draw the ragged pinstripes or the ridiculous tweed.

When she'd first met Dr. Smith, she'd been shocked, believing that him and the Doctor were identical, but that wasn't entirely true. Dr. Smith was calmer than the man in her dreams, with a smooth voice that she liked to listen to. While she did enjoy listening to the Doctor speak, his voice was an excited, rambling sort of voice that went on and on about things that she was simply too human to understand. Dr. Smith was somewhat careless about stubble on his chin, whereas she'd never seen the Doctor look anything but clean-shaven.

At first, speaking with him about such personal things had been difficult, but after completely spilling her madness out to him in their first session, Amy found that it wasn't that bad talking to Dr. Smith. In fact, a few sessions in, she found that talking to him was like talking to an old friend.

On their fourth session, he actually made her laugh aloud. A genuine, happy sound that Amy had never really heard come out of her mouth before.

They had found a sense of familiarity, that was certain. As familiar as a Doctor and a patient could get, she assumed, but still, it felt like having a friend. She'd never really had a friend except for Rory, and he still wasn't allowed to come visit her. Or maybe he was and he just chose not to. Amy never really spent a lot of time thinking about it because it made her heart hurt.

Still, she didn't tell him about the existence of her journals. Amy didn't want to lose him because he just couldn't see that she was insane.

She found that she was unconsciously paying more attention to her appearance. Nothing major, not really. But she would brush through her hair thoroughly to the point where it almost looked healthy again, and that was something considering she hadn't done anything to look even remotely nice since getting locked up.

The dreams didn't stop. She didn't dream of the kiss again. Amy found that things just got scarier and scarier. She woke up one night screaming when she dreamed that she'd been sucked up by the ground. When she woke up, she could still feel the Doctor gripping onto her hand desperately, still hear him begging her to hold on. That happened more often than she liked to admit, her waking up screaming. It wasn't like she could help it, after all. Still, she wished it would stop.

Amy found herself venturing out to the common room in the ward when she wasn't with Dr. Smith. She didn't really talk to anyone there, but she liked the illusion of company. She liked seeing people going about their business, liked the quiet hush of voices (and occasionally the loud shouts) around her. When she told Dr. Smith that she was going to the common room, she was rewarded by the sight of him smiling. She really did like it when he smiled. It made her feel like maybe things would be okay. It made her feel hopeful.

She didn't learn the people's names in the common room, choosing instead to give them names based on appearance or temperament that often fluctuated from day to day. Nothing permanent, nothing she cared to remember. So when the large woman came up to Amy, she had no idea who she was.

Her height, that was the first thing Amy noticed. Amy was pretty tall herself, but this woman had to be over six feet tall, and easily double Amy's width. She had blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders, and what might have been a kind face had she not looked so furious.

Amy hadn't spoken a word in the room that day. She was waiting for Dr. Smith to come in, to pick her up for their session. It was something he'd taken to doing, as he seemed to enjoy seeing her in a somewhat social setting. But that woman looked as though Amy had killed a puppy, and Amy just didn't know why anyone would look at her that way.

"You're her, aren't you?" The woman asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "That loopy girl who keeps on screaming."

So apparently Amy wasn't the only one who was bothered by the fact that she screamed at night. This woman must have a room relatively close by.

"Sorry," Amy mumbled, standing up, glancing down. There had been a time in her life when she would have snapped back some witty remark, when she would have stood her ground. But Amy had lost that desire to fight a long time ago. "I just- I'll just go."

When she tried to move past, the woman just shoved her shoulder, causing Amy to stumble back, nearly falling.

None of the nurses were in the common room. It was a place purely for the patients. And after a quick glance around the room, it seemed clear enough to Amy that no one had seen the woman shove her. They'd just seen her lose her balance.

"Who is he, then?" The blonde continued, advancing on Amy, who just kept on moving back. "That man you keep calling for. 'The Doctor'. Doctor who?" On the last word, Amy felt pressure on her shoulder again, and she stumbled backwards, her back pressed against the wall. Now a couple people seemed to be paying attention.

"Elsie," a woman with mousy brown hair said to the blonde who was approaching Amy. "That girl's mental, just let her go."

"No," Elsie said, grabbing at the collar of Amy's shirt. "I'm tired of hearing this girl screaming _every_ _damn night_. About a bloody fairytale no less."

"I'm sorry," Amy gasped, trying to push the blonde away. After her months in the ward, Amy found that she'd lost a good amount of her strength, becoming lanky and weak. The woman, Elsie, had not been weakened by the place.

"Elsie," the woman warned, though she didn't make a move to stop her.

Before Amy could speak, try to apologize maybe, try to promise that she'd stop screaming, she felt something connect with her mouth, hard and fast. A fist, Elsie's fist. Amy likely would have fallen had Elsie not been there to hold her up, but it wasn't comforting. Amy could feel blood in her mouth.

It seemed that Elsie's goal was to beat Amy up so badly that she couldn't ever scream again, but it wasn't working. Everywhere, Amy just felt pain. She felt the breath get knocked out of her when she was kneed in the stomach, felt blood running down her face from when Elsie's nails dug into her skin.

All the while, Amy was still screaming.

She couldn't help it. She wasn't screaming for help, wasn't screaming for anyone really. She just screamed because it _hurt_, because she couldn't get away, because it felt like she was going to be beaten to death in a psychiatric ward.

Amy could faintly hear the sounds of a bustle as people ran into the room, having noticed the fight. It wasn't really a fight though, not really. Elsie was beating Amy up, and Amy was just letting it happen. As if she needed to prove who was in charge (she definitely didn't, it was abundantly clear), Elsie shoved Amy, causing her to hit the ground hard.

"For the love of God, _stop screaming_." Elsie snapped, and that was the last Amy heard of her voice before she was taken away by a few men and women in white clothing. Nurses, Amy imagined.

She didn't move, didn't even shift from where she was. She felt as though she was broken, as though that woman had taken what little Amy had left and shattered it.

"Where is she? _Where is she_?" Amy heard distantly. A man's voice, drenched with a concern that she'd only ever heard from one person.

She could feel arms wrapping around her, gently helping her to sit up, and Amy found that she was too hurt to even shy away. But she didn't want to, not really. The arms around her were gentle.

"Amy, Amy please look at me." He said urgently. She could feel him holding her against his chest, cradling her carefully, but his voice sounded so quiet, as though someone were holding her head underwater. No one had ever sounded that concerned for her except for one man.

"Doctor?" She croaked, slowly opening her eyes. Even in her haze, Amy could see that it was Dr. Smith holding her, not the Doctor. But they looked so similar, it was easy to think that maybe it was her Raggedy Man.

"Amy, please, I need you to just keep on looking at me, you're going to be okay." He murmured, though she could hear the desperation in his voice.

"Do you think I might die, Doctor?" She asked quietly, letting herself dwell on the illusion that she'd found her Raggedy Man again.

"No," he said firmly. "Amelia Pond, I will _not _let you die."

"I think I might like that," she mumbled, speaking more to herself now than him, scarcely aware of what she was even saying. "I just feel tired, Doctor. This isn't a life, not really. I might be ready for it to stop."

"You can't," he said, his voice sounding strained, almost like he was pleading with her. She could vaguely hear someone calling for medical help, but she barely paid them any mind. "You can't talk like that, not for one second."

Impossibly, Amy felt herself smiling. "You haven't come back, not really." She mumbled, finding it difficult to speak, difficult to breathe. "My Raggedy Man. I just hoped that maybe... Maybe you hadn't really left me. That maybe you'd come to save me."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, lightly touching her cheek, and Amy could have sworn that she saw tears in his eyes. "I am _so _sorry."

Amy closed her eyes, just focusing on trying to breathe. She wasn't sure she wanted to die, but it didn't feel like she had much of a choice.

She could feel him pressing his lips against her forehead, and the gentle contact made her feel warm, despite the pain coursing through her, despite the blood running down the side of her mouth and matting in her red hair. When he pulled back, he was still apologizing to her, though she didn't know why, not really. Amy didn't have any time to think about it before everything went dark and her mind went quiet.


End file.
